Another dear old soldier-saint
   Has fought the battle well
And now enjoys the victory
   O'er Satan, death and hell.

The house of clay in which she dwelt
Will molder back to dust
But now her soul is with the Lord
In whom was all her trust.

Our precious Saviour soon will come
Her sleeping dust to raise
With all the other saints of God
Fore'er to sing His praise.

In spirit she is far removed
Beyond all pain and strife
To ne'er again be laden with
The troubles of this life.

May we then sweetly bid farewell
And grieve and mourn no more
For she doth now with angels dwell
 On Heaven's blissful shore.

Thin Line

Elder Ralph Harris   -  April 1992
(This poem was written upon the death
of my Aunt Mable Wells.)